


You're tobacco and I'm the bubbles

by Keamperia_Anderson



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28035153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keamperia_Anderson/pseuds/Keamperia_Anderson
Summary: It's hard for Lovino to illustrate all those summers : Antonio  and him , tobacco and bubbles , a shooting star and a rain storm , an unrequited love.*Inspired by the song <あなたは煙草　私はシャボン>
Relationships: South Italy/Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	You're tobacco and I'm the bubbles

Lovino never knew exactly how to describe such a relationship.

"Neighbours"? Too superficial.

"Friends"? A total whitewash of rhetoric.

"Childhood sweethearts"? That's too ...... ambiguous.

In fact, to this day he is still searching for the right word. Antonio lives next door to his house, is eight years older than him and has practically watched him grow up. Antonio is unique in his world. So what kind of being was he in Antonio's world?

When he tries to gather evidence, the first and only image that pops into his head is that of one summer. Their respective ages have now been forgotten, except for a vague recollection - the age of smoking tobacco and blowing bubbles.

* * *

On the dusk of summer holidays, Lovino slipped out of the house and ran towards the central square, with Antonio following him like a dutiful babysitter. Through the crowd, Lovino ends up sitting by the fountain in the square. He brought soapy water from home and blew bubbles.

Around the fountain there seems to be a perpetual flow of people, and Lovino, while resenting the children for being so noisy and childish, is doing something no more mature than they are. He dips a few drops of soapy water into a straw and blows them gently into the air. The transparent spherical edges of the bubbles are still emitting the seven colours of the sun.

One by one, the bubbles flew slowly away. At that moment his eyes caught a glimpse of the cigarette in Antonio's hand, which had just been lit with a tiny spark.

Before he could say anything, the other man immediately threw up his hands in surrender: "Okay, I'm wrong, please, don't tell parents, okay?"

"I don't care. That's your choice, it's not like I have anything to do with it." He said.

Antonio looked relieved and continued to try his first cigarette. It was the opposite of blowing bubbles, one inwards and one outwards.

Antonio, as a new hand, choked and coughed after just one puff. But after a few minutes he had the technique down to a fine art and was able to exhale wisps of pale white smoke outwards with ease.

Lovino then realised that he was sitting next to an adult, someone old enough to walk into a liquor shop with his head held high. He, on the other hand, was still just a kid with suds.

The sun was setting through the smoky veil, leaving a gentle pale orange; the bubbles were tinged with color of blood in front of the hanging sun on the horizon.

The speed at which the smoke dissipate in the air. Three. Two. One.

The speed at which the bubbles disappear by the sky. Three. Two. One.

One is a sign of maturity, the other is a symbol of childishness, just as you and I, no matter what, cannot cross this river of time difference.

A flock of white doves flies by, weaving through the smoke and bubbles, breaking a few of them. Lovino bursts into a foul tone at a volume only he can hear, no one knows what he is cursing.

The bubbles burst silently, without even leaving a trace, as if they had never existed on this earth before. While tobacco, at least, has a little ash to record the subtlety of the burn.

Lovino, however, chose to become the former.

* * *

It was when he was fourteen years old. In the middle of summer, that Antonio came knocking on Lovino's door with a copy of the evening paper, listening to the predictions of the so-called experts and telling him one after the other between the whirring of the electric fans.

Finally Antonio said, "Let's go and watch the meteor !"

Lovino agreed. But on this appointed date, he just stares out the window at the rain without a word. The sound of the rain was accompanied by intermittent deafening thunder, and when the strong wind blew, the air was filled with a mist of water thicker than smoke. Rainstorms were as precious a rarity as shooting stars in a Mediterranean summer, and the two collided, shattering any small expectations the teenager had had.

The two doors were less than three metres apart, but Antonio chose to risk being struck by lightning to make the call. His voice mingled with the electricity as he said something like, "I'm sorry, it looks like the plan is not going to work", in his usual tune, perfect and unmistakable.

Lovino felt inexplicably fired up. After hanging up the phone he went to the window and pushed the glass open with the howling wind. Antonio had done that stupid thing before, and when he laughed at him, he explained in all seriousness that it was an imitation of a petrel.

The culprit, Antonio, would never knew about the wish he had made on the shooting star in advance.

That beautiful words had come out earlier, when Lovino was five and Antonio was thirteen, still barely old enough to be considered a child. In the summertime, Lovino played on Antonio's shoulder, spinning around together so many times that both of them were a bit dizzy by the time they were put down. But Antonio was still smiling, ignoring the beads of sweat that were slipping off.

"It's nice to be like this." He looked ahead and said, "Lovino, let's stay together from now on and forever!"

Those were the words. As if opening some kind of sealed spell, the hearts went further and further apart on some path that was not parallel.

So how could you possibly know that the wish that I had rehearsed countless times was a beautiful phrase that you once casually mentioned and then ignored? So it's all your fault, Antonio.

Lovino sometimes had dreams of himself pummelling Antonio, who still has that smile on his face: the good old smile that no one can fault, no one can get angry with. And Lovino cries out silently as he beats Antonio.

 **It's your fault!** It's all your fault. It's all your fault......

* * *

Lovino was seventeen when he first tried smoking. He lit up a cigarette he'd gotten from a classmate. While the adults were away, he hid in the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He took a deep drag and the smell that rushed through his teeth was disgusting. He probably never understood in his life why anyone would be addicted to smoking.

The tears flowed into the sink, mixed with his saliva. And as he reached for the tap, he knocked over the small bottle on the side of sink, and the suds Antonio had made went down into the dark depths. The smell of soap overwhelmed the smoke for a moment and he thought of a million unrelated things.

The rainy weather. Sunsets. White doves. A defaulting shooting star. A nauseating crush. All to no avail.

The summer tobacco will dissipate in a minute, the soap bubble will surely break after a few metres upwards, the flock of doves will fly away, the sunset will be over in a flash and the fountain will one day run dry. All that is missed is more fleeting than a shooting star.

Antonio, you're eight years older than me and you're going to start a family before me. What would you say to your future family about me? Anyway, it can't be "the kid who once had a crush on you", can it?

Lovino made up his mind that from now on, Antonio would only be a friend.

* * *

Later he passed by the fountain in the central square again. By that time he had already graduated from university, and the two families had moved away to a distant place.

Lovino was surprised that the area had not been redeveloped. The children running and playing around seemed to never change. He noticed an old man sitting by the fountain, wearing a heavy leather hat and clutching a cane in his hand, looking off into the unknown.

As Lovino brushed past, he heard the old man's voice: "Bubbles? Pigeon bubbles?"

He turned and all he saw was the wonderfully reassuring look on the old man's face. There was a little blond boy blowing bubbles, clear spheres floating one after the other into the sky, where they were broken up by the unexpected flock of pigeons and reflected the light of the setting sun.

At that moment, Lovino just wanted to stop forever.


End file.
